


Liberal DESTROYS Ben Shapiro

by margaret_sexnose



Series: Ben Shapiro Gets Pegged [1]
Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Play, Edging, F/M, Fingering, First Time, Gender Play, Hair Pulling, Humiliation kink, Mild Painplay, Mild S&M, Orgasm Denial, Pegging, Praise Kink, Riding, Semi clothed sex, belt, blowjob, did I write this out of being moderately horny for Ben Shapiro? also yes, did I write this out of spite? absolutely, uhhhhhgfhhh reader pegs the shit out of Ben Shapiro?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaret_sexnose/pseuds/margaret_sexnose
Summary: You steal Ben Shapiro’s wife (very easy), invite him to a hotel room and then peg him off the face of the earth. That’s it. That’s all this is. I’m not sorry and I hope someone jacks off to this xx
Relationships: Ben Shapiro/Reader, Mor Shapiro/Reader
Series: Ben Shapiro Gets Pegged [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955911
Comments: 25
Kudos: 61





	Liberal DESTROYS Ben Shapiro

**Author's Note:**

> uuuhhhh thanks to my gayest and weirdest friends for being Super Into It for no reason, and soz to my best friends bf who happens to be called Ben which made this super hard to write lmao

Ben Shapiro’s wife is unbelievably easy to please in bed. 

One “what do you want?” or “is this good for you?” is more or less enough to get the poor woman to orgasm alone— but then again, wouldn’t your standards be a little low after being married to Ben Shapiro for a good chunk of your life? You think you might get her flowers next weekend and see if she starts bleeding at the nose. She’s not bad looking, either.

You stretch out on the hotel bed and stare up at the ceiling with something like pride bubbling up inside you. 

Life is good. You have Mor Shapiro, and soon? Well. Soon… 

Two knocks on the hotel door, and you turn your head slowly to face it.  
“Who is it?”  
“Y/N? It’s me… You said you wanted to meet me. Is this the right room?”  
He’s so fucking stupid. You texted him the room number at least twice.  
“Yes, this is right. Come in, I’ve left the door unlocked.”

While it would be fun to lock the door and listen to Ben struggle on the other side for a good five minutes, public humiliation isn’t on the agenda tonight. At least, not yet.

He’s cautious as he comes through, eyes scanning the room for some sort of weapon or hostage chair as though there are three armed men waiting to acost and tie him down as soon as he enters. There’s no one, though. Only you.

Ben crosses the room slowly, and then comes to stand awkwardly at the foot at the bed

“I—“  
“Sit down, Ben.”  
Ben sits. Good boy.  
“What do you want?” He asks, in that voice of his that sounds like a mosquito unsure of itself. “My wife, who is a doctor, says I can’t be around you. She says that you are a bad influence.”  
“Does she? That’s a pity.” You’ve been staying with her almost everyday for two weeks, bedwarming while her soon to be ex-husband tweets about why women’s arousal is a sure sign of a vaginal disease. Of course she doesn’t want him speaking to you. No matter. “Why don’t you sit a little closer? I can barely hear you.”

Ben stays where he is.

“I said,” you repeat, slower and quieter, “why don't you sit a little closer?”  
He moves closer, sliding up the sheets by only a few inches.  
“Closer.”  
A few more.  
“You can do better than that.”

Ben moves the rest of the way up, avoiding your steady gaze the entire time and only stopping when his hand is almost touching your knee.

“Now, was that really so bad?”  
You sit up, quite suddenly, and Ben almost jumps up before you put one hand over his thigh, effectively preventing him from moving away.  
“Y- Y/N, I really don’t—“  
“You do, though. You think about it, I know it. You’ve spent every day since you first met me thinking about it. I can see it in your face every time I come round. Tell me, Ben,” and you slide your hand further up his thigh, “Is it true that you never had sex with anyone before Mor?”

He’s still avoiding your eyes. That won’t do. With one hand still planted firmly on his leg, you move the other one to hold his jaw, turning his head to face you.  
“Is that true?”  
“It’s… it’s…”  
He gives a gasp as the ever vigilant hand on his thigh moves even further north. You can feel his face getting hot in your other hand, and you smirk.  
“Good boy, staying pure for the sake of a God you can’t see. Whatever happened to facts over feelings, my guy?”

Ben’s face is getting hotter and hotter under your touch, and his trousers are getting tighter and tighter. It’s almost pathetic.

“What are you going to do to me,” he asks.  
“Nothing you don't want. You can walk away right now if you want to.”

There’s a pause as Ben stays exactly where he is.

“Staying where you are, huh? Good choice. You do make them occasionally. This way, it’ll be better for both of us.” He makes as though to start unbuttoning his shirt, but you smack his hands away.  
“Did i give you permission to start undressing yourself?”  
“I- well, the implication-“  
“Facts over feelings, Ben. Now,” you get to your feet. “Why don't you lay down for me on your back? Be a good boy for once.”

Ben does as he’s told.  
“Oh, so you can take orders? Who knew. I bet you like it, huh? I bet you like being told what to do, being bossed around. Is that why you get hard under the table when AOC is tearing you a new one? You just like the idea that a woman, a liberal- could pin you down and make you take whatever you’re given and then make you like it, too. I wonder how filthy your search history is. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

You walk languidly around the room, never taking your eyes away from the man laying like a ragdoll on the bed, so hard in his trousers it probably hurts. You can’t find it within yourself to care that much. 

“In the drawer next to you there’s going to be a red bottle. Take it out.”  
Again, Ben does as he’s told. He eyes up the bottle warily.  
“Massage. Durex. I think I know where this is going.”  
“Do you? Do you want to take a guess?”  
“My guess… well. Looking at what you have presented me with so far, I could draw a conclusion that you are going to engage in sexual activities with me.”  
“An impressive deduction. And all by yourself, too.”

Ben’s eyes flicker up to you and back to the bottle.

“Are you… are you going to use this on yourself?”  
“No. No, I’m not. I don’t have to, see? Unbeknownst to you, women actually create their own if you're doing it right. You, on the other hand…”

The man’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he glances over the rest of the bottle. 

“Wh- what do you want me to do?”  
“Taking off your trousers would be a good start.”

His hands are shaking as he pushes the offending item of clothing down, kicking them off and onto the floor as your eyes follow the movement.  
“Now what?”  
“Underwear too.”  
Ben falters.  
“These are very easy instructions. Unless you want to leave, that is.”  
He doesn’t. He wouldn’t leave now if someone paid him to, and boy don’t you just know it.

The underwear comes off, and now it’s just a pathetically hard man with nothing to hide his shame and a bottle of lube.  
“Put a pillow under your hips.”  
He does.  
“I would ask if you’ve ever fingered someone, but I already know what the answer is. Start with squeezing some onto two fingers, okay? We’ll take it slow to start off with.”

Ben looks up.  
“To start off with?”  
“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

He obeys, anyway. But you knew he would.

“I want you to try one finger. Just one.”  
His hand pauses in the act of moving to his neglected dick.  
“One… finger?”  
“One finger. Inside yourself, if you don’t mind.”  
Ben’s mouth drops open. “Inside myself!?” He squeaks. “As in, in the context of- actually? Up there?”  
“That’s the general idea.”  
He just stares at you, slack-jawed. “I- I..”  
“If you do it right,” you purr, “it’ll make you feel really, really good.”

There’s silence, for a moment. And then Ben leans back against the pillows, shuts his eyes, and presses one trembling finger to his entrance. 

“Very good, you’re being so good for me. So passive. You can just listen to my voice if you want, when you’re touching yourself. You don’t have to look at me. You could be anywhere you like, in your imagination. You do have an imagination, don’t you?”  
Ben nods a yes.  
“Excellent. So good. Try pushing it in, now.”

When it goes in, Ben makes a tiny sound somewhere in between a mortified squeak and a sigh of relief.  
“And… and now?”

“Just move it around, in and out. Try to get used to the feeling.”

You watch Ben’s face intently as he works the finger inside himself; his eyes are squeezed as tightly shut as he can make them and his mouth is barely more than a thin line stretched across his face. Occasionally he’ll twitch his head to one side or his hand will falter, but otherwise he seems relatively unfazed by a finger in his ass. 

“A second.”  
Ben opens his eyes and his finger stops. He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off before he can get any words out.  
“You heard me. Add a second finger.”  
What else can he do? Slowly and trepidatiously, Ben withdraws the first finger to make sure that both are coated with a sufficient amount of lube and tries to push back into himself. The tips of the fingers have barely entered him before he gives a gasp and tips his head back, eyes slamming shut once again.  
“It hurts.”  
“And it’s going to hurt until you stop being a bitchboy about the whole thing and relax. If you just relax, you’ll barely even feel them going in.”

“I do apologise for not being delighted about engaging in revolting acts including a part of my body I usually try not to go near. Next time I’ll bring along some soothing whale noises on CD,” Ben snaps, but nevertheless his shoulders seem less tense and his mouth is no longer just a line across his face.

Finally, both fingers go in up to the second knuckle, and he’s starting to look less like a prisoner of war and more like a willing participant.

By the time they’re actually moving somewhat in a steady rhythm, Ben’s face is that of someone who’s just been served jalapeño poppers and is now trying to figure out how to tell an overbearing host that they’re not great with spicy food. He’s wearing a look of complete concentration, teeth worrying at his lower lip and the hand that isn’t between his legs tight in the sheets. 

“Ben,” you say, and he doesn’t answer. You sigh, walk back to the bed and lean over where he’s clearly struggling.  
“Ben,” you repeat, louder, and this time he opens his eyes fully to lock gazes with you, pupils blown so you can see yourself reflected in them. You’ve never seen anyone look so absolutely helpless in your life.  
“Is this okay?” Your mouth is an inch away from his. He swallows, then nods. 

He’s shit at kissing, but what did you expect?

Anyway. You’re not expecting passion and skill when it comes to a man half dressed with two fingers inside himself for the first time. He’s enthusiastic, at least. 

You dominate the kiss- because let’s face it, Ben’s now rocking onto his fingers, fucking himself with his own hand and isn’t capable of much more than allowing you to push your tongue in, one hand holding his jaw steady like a bit in a horse’s mouth. You swallow the tiny sounds as they come, and they’re coming faster and louder the longer he’s pushing down onto his fingers. You know exactly when he finds that sweet spot because he thrusts his head back so fast and suddenly that he almost hits it on the bed frame and the noise that comes is as if he’s been thrown into an ice bath six foot deep.

“That’ll happen,” you murmur into his mouth as he trembles from the aftershock. “It’s what’s meant to happen to women, too, but I guess you wouldn’t know.”

“Y/N,” he breathes, “f- oh, oh- shit, oh god…”  
“You can take those fingers out, now,” you say, and Ben looks at you as though you’ve just suggested he should go on a skiing trip in Antarctica.  
“Take them out? They’re only just feeling good!”  
“Don’t panic, Princess. You’ll have plenty more time to feel good if you do as I say and keep that pretty mouth for more important things than arguing.”

Ben shuts his mouth as he should, and withdraws the fingers with a frustrated groan. 

“Good boy. You’re behaving so well for me, aren’t you? Look at you, you’re desperate for it. You’re desperate for me to fuck you. Was two fingers enough, kitten? Was it ever going to be enough? Will you need more, to be able to even come close to coming? I’m going to ruin you for anybody else. You aren’t even going to be able to touch yourself without thinking of how much you wish I was there. Do you need it? Tell me you do.”

He’s still wearing that stupid fucking tie that he thinks makes him look civilised and tidy, and you grab it and yank him towards you.  
“Tell me,” you growl, and Ben sucks in a sharp breath. His cheeks are scarlet with a mixture of desire and shame. 

“I need it,” he whispers.  
“How badly?”  
“Gosh, I- I don’t even-“  
You let him go, and he falls back like a puppet with its strings cut.  
“You’re pathetic. Jesus. Get on the floor.” There’s a pause. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get on the floor, now.”

And then he is on the floor.

You’ve attached the strap-on by now, while he was busy fucking himself onto his fingers with all the peripheral awareness of a pony with blinkers and he just stares at it numbly. 

“Well?” You say, standing above him. “It isn’t going to suck itself. I told you you’d need that pretty mouth, didn’t I?”  
Ben eyes up the thing inches away from his mouth. You sigh.  
“What, do I have to give you a hand with that, too?”  
Ben opens his mouth to answer and while he’s preoccupied trying to explain his feelings towards giving head to a plastic cock, you slide one hand into his hair, hold on and guide his mouth to the tip.

“I know you won’t know how to do this,” you croon as he stares up at you with accusing eyes. “But luckily for you, it’s like a practise run. It isn’t real, see? So do you think you could try? Just for me?”

He tries. With your helping hand tight in his hair, he gets half of the way down before pausing to glance up.  
“Yes? Can I help you?”  
Ben’s mouth pops off with an obscene noise as he pulls his head back.  
“I- I don’t think I can get the full thing. I’ll choke.”  
“It’s ok, princess, you’ve got me helping you. Just breathe through your nose, and do remember to breathe. Yes? Get a move on.”

Ben goes red, nods and goes to put his mouth over it again, but before he has the opportunity you push him down all the way onto it, causing him to choke and splutter. You pull him off just as quickly, leaving him coughing and teary eyed.

“Aw, I guess I got carried away. Remember to breathe, sweetheart.”

Then you push him back onto the plastic cock, and move him with aid of the hand wound into his hair up and down, up and down, letting the breathy little noises that come from the back of his throat vibrate through rhythmically as you fuck his face.

“You’re such a slut,” you hiss. “Such a good little slut, taking cock so well. Who’d have guessed, huh? Look at me while I’m fucking your mouth, won’t you? I want to see your face as you take it, while I’m using you as my toy. You like it, I bet. You like that you’re just my toy, and I can use you until I’m bored and do anything I want and you’ll just take it like the slut that you are. What’s it like, huh? Not being in charge? If your precious fans could see you now, on your knees and letting me put you in your place. I can only imagine the twitter hashtags. ‘Ben Shapiro gets destroyed by a liberal’? ‘Ben Shapiro’s voice isn’t as annoying when all he’s doing is moaning’? What do you think?”

Ben groans around the cock in his mouth and you yank his head up to look at you while he’s still about three quarters of the way down.

His eyes are wet, tears streaming down his face and cheeks scarlet from the humiliation of the whole thing. His smart, quick talking mouth will probably never be the same again.  
“You like it,” you repeat, quieter, more slowly. “You like gagging on my cock knowing it’s going to be inside you, don’t you? You fucking whore.”

He doesn’t answer, but you didn’t expect much from a man with about 6 inches of plastic in his mouth. You slide him off by his hair and that same utterly obscene noise comes again as his mouth parts ways with the cock, a long strand of spit stretching from his bottom lip and connecting to the tip coming with it. 

You wouldn’t think it, but this is probably the prettiest he’s ever looked— not that there’s much competition, really. He’s breathing hard, still coughing a little, eyes and mouth wet from spit and tears, lips and cheeks flushed and crimson, perfectly gelled hair now partly sticking up in erratic spikes and partly plastered to his forehead.

You kiss him again, because you can. Ben kisses back like a dying man, all clumsy teeth and desperation, straining for some sort of half-decent purchase and semblances of stability. It’s too late for that, of course. He forfeited all of that the second he walked through the door.

“Get up,” you order, and he has to lean on the wall just to get off his knees— never mind trying to actually stand without support. His legs are shaking as he rises, chest rising and falling under his shirt that still hasn’t come off, eyes trained to the ground instead of looking at you.  
“I’m up,” he mumbles.  
“Good boy. Being so well behaved, aren’t we? I don’t think I’ve ever known you quieter than with my cock in your mouth. I was a nice change; I might have to do it more often if that’s the reward I get.”

You pat him on the shoulder and he nearly falls to his knees again.

“Now, won’t you go stand over by the table for me?”  
Ben glances over at the glass table in front of four huge floor-to-ceiling windows that look over the city sunset behind several tall skyscrapers.  
“Like this?” He says. “I- what if someone sees me?”  
“What if indeed,” you murmur. “Now, go take that tight little ass over to the table and face the window. Don’t look back.”

Ben takes a couple of shaky steps towards the table then pauses.  
“I mean it,” you warn. “Don’t look back or I’ll have to punish you, kitten.” Ben visibly shivers, but nevertheless reaches the table with his back still turned to you. You breathe a quiet laugh at his nervousness and bend down, picking up his trousers from the floor. The leather belt slides off with ease, barely making any noise as you bend it in half, holding the two ends in your hand. It feels good. Ben still hasn’t moved from where he stands in front of the windows, but every so often he shifts anxiously on his feet or pulls his shirt down to give himself some illusion of modesty.

Cute.

You come up behind him silently, and make the poor man jump a little when you push yourself against the length of his back and press your mouth to the top of his spine.  
“Poor baby, were you scared without me? Don’t worry, I’m here now.”  
He can most likely feel the strap hard against his ass, sliding against his body and slick with his own spit. You think if you push your hand up the front of his shirt right now you could probably feel his heart beating out of his chest.

“Y/N,” he says, and your name comes so smoothly off his tongue it’s like he’s been perfecting the art of it for his entire life.  
“Yeah, yeah that’s me. Do you think we can get a couple more of those out of you tonight?”  
Ben laughs but it’s a shallow thing that catches in his throat. Too high pitched.  
“I- I think that is definitely a possibility.”  
“Good. God, so good.” You trail the belt along his thigh, and he tips his head back onto your shoulder, doing a full-body shiver as the cool metal slides along the skin that’s probably burning hot. 

“God, I want to fuck you so bad, you know that?” You mutter into his ear. “You’re just perfect, like this, exactly like this. Tight little ass pressed against my dick, pushing back into me. You need my cock so bad, don’t you, princess? Say it. Say you’re my good little whore.”

Ben groans and arches his back, pushing his ass against the strap.

“I- I’m your-“  
You snap the belt against the skin of his thigh and he cries out. “Louder.”  
“I’m your good- your good—“  
When the belt hits him again he shudders and buries his face in the gap between your shoulder and neck.  
“Your good little whore. I’m your good little whore— Y/N— I-“  
“We need a safeword,” you cut in. “Pussy. The safeword is pussy.”  
“P- what?”

“Pussy. I know you can say it.”  
There’s a pause in which Ben seems nothing short of bewildered. “I… okay?”  
“Great.”

You slide your hand between you both, right between his shoulder blades and push him down face first onto the table. He lands, cheek pressed against the glass and forearms on either side of his head.  
“Stay,” you order quietly. “Stay right where you are.” You take your hand away from his back to come round where the bottom of the shirt meets skin, the other still gripping the belt. 

You lay it next to him on the table and gently push his head back down as he tries to lift it to see what clinked on the glass.  
“I thought I told you to stay.”

Ben sighs and settles back on the table as you walk back over to the bed to collect the still-open bottle of lube. If he’s going to get fucked, he might as well get prepped properly.

“I’m gonna ask you to relax again,” you say, steadying your free hand on his lower back.  
“Are- are you gonna put that thing in me?”  
“Do you mean the dick? Eventually, yes. But for now I’m more interested in making it not make you bleed or anything like that when it goes in.”  
Ben snaps his head up.  
“Bleed?”  
“Relax! This is to make sure it doesn’t, see?”

Ben nods and then puts his head back down.  
“Gosh, you really know how to make a girl feel special.”

You pause with two fingers on their way to his ass.  
“Oh, so you’re a girl now? Is that how it is?”  
“Wh- I didn’t m—“  
“I can treat you like a girl if you want,” you croon teasingly, letting your fingers drift to his ass and rest against his hole. He shivers from the cold against his body. “Would you like that, baby?”  
Ben whimpers a little.  
“Aww, you even sound like a girl. Moan for me, princess.”

He groans as you push the fingers in gradually, deliberately, pushing back against your hand. You move them painfully slowly, enjoying it as he twitches in frustration, trying to get some kind of friction— you can’t blame him, really; you’ve been driving him to the edge again and again all evening and you don’t plan on stopping that now.

When you crook your fingers inside him he moans so loud you almost look over your shoulder in case there’s a sleep deprived family next door who are going to march in to demand you keep it down.  
“You’re so fucking loud, Jesus Christ,” you mutter, working your fingers inside him.  
“I’m Jewish,” he manages to gasp back as you scissor the two fingers and he subsequently smacks his head on the table. You can’t help but breathe a laugh at this, and Ben gets the reward of getting your fingers twisted in him. He moans again and you shake your head in amazement.

“I would’ve thought you’d be trying to keep quiet. Silly me, huh? Then again, you always did have a mouth on you. All that debating must’ve made your vocal cords tuned to a fine pitch and ready to go at all times.”  
“Ah- shut up— ah~ god!”  
He’s gripping the edge of the table like his life depends on it, knuckles white and fingertips pressed against the underside. If you pushed the table through the window now he’d most likely go along with it.

When you withdraw your fingers he whines, but when you immediately replace them with the tip of the cock it cuts off with a sharp intake of breath. 

“You seem tense.”  
“Acute observation, liberal.”

You put down the lube next to him on the table and steady your other hand on his back beside the other one.  
“Ready?”  
You don’t wait for a reply and instead push all the way in, making him cry out before quickly biting down on his hand to make himself shut up.  
“No, let me hear you. You’ve been so good at making noise until now, it'd be such a shame if that were to stop.”

Ben cautiously moves his hand away from his mouth just as you pull your hips back and then slam right back into him so hard he’s shunted up the table. He shouts again, and then again as you repeat the motion, and again until one is barely distinguishable from another. By the time you’re moving at a steady (fast and hard) pace, the only things coming from his mouth are a torrent of prayers and threats and the occasional sob, along with your name uttered in such a way that it’s like you’re a god who abandoned his timeline. 

“Harder,” he says, and, “harder, god— Y/N, faster—!”  
“So needy,” you mutter, and grip onto his hips even tighter as you pound into him relentlessly. Ben gives another sob and moves his hands to cover yours as you fuck him, almost like he’s trying to speed up your movements somehow. You laugh a little at the helplessness of it all, of this self assured, arrogant, stubborn man who’s now acting like he’ll die unless you just fuck him as hard as your possibly can, straining to get satisfaction and a complete and utter mess under your skilled hands.

You slow down, then, and he groans like you’ve told him he’s going to lose everything in a tragic fire.

“Calm down,” you say brightly, enjoying his frustration. “Honestly, it’s as if you’re desperate for it or something.”  
“I am,” he replies, “I- I’m desperate for it, okay? I’m desperate for your cock, how's that, are you happy? Will you speed up now?”  
You lean forwards until you’re right up close to his ear, and then you whisper, “Say please, Ben.”  
“Please,” he says quietly through gritted teeth.

You give him a little kiss on the shoulder, straighten up, and then… pull out.

The man on the table before you makes his hands into fists and pushes his face onto the table.  
“When I get up from this table I’m going to make your life a living hell.”  
“I’d like to see you try, kitten.” You keep your hands steady on his hips still, even without being in him and after a few seconds of this he sighs impatiently again.

“What?” He says sarcastically, legs still trembling and barely able to hold himself up. “Are you gonna come on my back or something?” He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder, one cheek red from being pressed into the table, spit and tears making lights from the city glisten orange against his face. He’s so arrogant, even now: cock still hard and straining for release, lube smeared down the insides of his thighs and hole thoroughly fucked to within an inch of its life. (You aren’t even done with it yet.)

“Don’t be ridiculous, Princess. I can still spit on you.”  
He shudders.  
“Oh, that’s how it is? You like that? You like the idea of me spitting on you? You’re even more of a slut than I thought you were. Ask me for it, then. If you’re going to be a cumslut, you’re going to be my good little cumslut. Tell me what you want.”

“I want…” he seems to struggle with himself again. Then, something in him appears to snap and he puts his head back down, arches his back and presses his ass back against the strap. His voice, when he next speaks, is rougher and edged with something desperate and animalistic.

“I want to be penetrated by you, with the penis, whatever— and I want to come. I- I want to have it in me again. Come in me. Spit in- on- me, or whatever you want- whatever works- I don’t care if you tie me up or- or pull my hair or anytime you want to do to me because I’ll take it. I’ll be good. I’ll be your- your good little whore. Your cumslut. Kitten, princess, I don’t care… just, just please…”

You stare at him for a moment. Then, you smile.

“You catch on quick, princess.” You motion for him to turn over by tapping him on the side and he obeys quickly, settling himself on his elbows and looking up at you with those huge eyes. You lean forwards and kiss him so sweetly, catching his mouth and catching him by surprise when you slide a hand round to cradle his head and help him steady himself against you. His eyes flutter shut and he kisses back— a little awkwardly but that’s expected— and he lets you take him over completely.

“Cute,” you whisper against his mouth. “You’re so cute like this. Why don’t you do it more? Can’t let yourself? It’s a shame. You’d stay here forever if you could; I know these things. It must be nice to take a break. Sweet little thing. You’re so good, aren’t you? So good.”

“M’good,” he whispers back absent-mindedly, and then pauses when he realises what he’s said.  
“You are, that’s right. Now, baby, I’m gonna go back over to that bed and I’m gonna lay down, see? In your own time, come over to me and just take a little seat in my lap, yeah? Do you think you can do that for me?”

“I can… in your lap?” He looks at the dildo. “Sit… there’s no room.”  
“Isn’t there? Let’s think about this logically, shall we?”

Ben swallows.

“I think I’m beginning to understand your reasoning, liberal.”  
“So clever. Okay! Make your way over when you feel ready.”

You cross the room, belt in hand as he watches like a gazelle observing a lion, and then recline across the sheets on your back.  
“Mmm. I needed to take the weight off my feet. Good job I got us a nice room, right? I did well with that view.”  
Ben jumps a little and scrambles off his elbows, pulling his shirt down as he realises he’s still in front of the huge windows. He backs away until he hits the bed frame, at which point he stumbles and glances back at you, then the window, then back at you.

“Can we.. can we close the curtains or something?”  
You shake your head. “Curtains stay open. You could hurry up and get that tight little ass over here if you really want; that’d get you further away from the window.”

Ben sighs and shuffles along the side of the bed, back facing the window.  
“What’s the matter? Ashamed of yourself? We’re a bit far in for that, aren’t we?”  
“Well, I can’t really be seen as someone who does these kinds of things.”  
“Why not? It’s the land of the free. Surely you can do whatever your heart desires, no?”  
Ben looks awkward. “Well…”  
“Shut up and hop on, bitchboy. Honestly, you’re shit at this; everyone knows you’re only meant to get vulnerable once you’ve cum and you haven’t cum yet— so you’d better get a move on.”

He sighs again and weighs up your form, laid out on the bed like a banquet of goose and peacock (except he’s vegan) or a pile of gleaming gold coins (that he cannot figure out how to convert to his own currency)— and bites his lip.  
“How do I…?”  
“I mean, try getting on the bed like a normal person to start off with.”

Ben nods, now thoroughly embarrassed- and puts a leg up, pulling himself up and shuffling awkwardly between your legs on his knees. 

“Come on, princess,” you coo. “You took it so well before.” You pat your lap. “Swing a leg over, hm?”

Ben does as he’s told. The leg comes over and he stays there, on his knees with his ass hovering above the strap. He looks at you nervously.  
“Do you want to hold my hands? Will that make it easier?”  
He holds your hands as he lowers himself onto the strap, sweaty palms struggling for a grip and (slightly sticky) fingers digging into the backs of your hands with a white-knuckle grip.

As he reaches the base and finally collapses into your lap he makes a tiny sound like “nngh”, and drops his head, trembling, onto your chest. You can feel his hot breath coming in shaking, irregular gasps on your stomach and you press your lips to the back of his hand.  
“You’re okay. You’re fine, see? It’s all in. Calm down.”

Ben nods, wordlessly.

It’s a good thirty seconds before he sits back, breathing hard, but finally seeming to have adjusted to taking a six inch cock to the hilt.  
“And now I just…”  
“And now you just move. That’s the good thing about this; you can control the pace. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Ben gazes at you, possibly without seeing. You aren’t altogether sure he still has two intact brain cells to rub together that haven’t been turned to liquid. 

“Look.” You put your hands- still held by his- on his hips, and gently guide him back and forwards on the cock. When he moans a little you do it again, and then again, and then you take your hands away and allow him to continue the motion without the guidance. For a guy desperate to go fast only a few minutes ago, he’s sure as hell taking his sweet time riding the strap. 

“You can try up and down,” you interject helpfully. “Or go faster, or whatever feels good.”  
“This is.. mm,” he says, still going at that painfully slow rate. He’s barely even moving at all. “This is okay, I- I don’t think I can go faster? I think my legs are a bit shaky. I’m struggling to do anything.”  
“I’ll bet.”

You sit up very suddenly, curl your arm around the back of his neck, put the other on his ass and flip the pair of you over so that he lands face-up on the sheets, staring at you with wide eyes and a mouth that’s slightly ajar.  
“Is this better?”  
“Wh- I… yes…?”

You reach over and pick up the belt laying on the bedside cabinet.  
“Arms up, please.”  
Ben instinctively follows your order before he can launch his brain into gear, and that’s enough time for you to thread the thing between his wrists and then through one of the bars on the headrest, securing it tight and rendering him completely helpless once and for all.  
“Aww, damsel in distress, cute. Did the big, nasty man kidnap you? And what’re you gonna do about it?” You don’t give him time to answer. “Fuck all is what you’re gonna do about it. You’re just gonna lay there and take it, be my good little cumslut just like you promised.”

You lean down and kiss him again, letting him push back into it needily, bucking his hips up into nothing. Then you move your mouth lower, dragging your lips down his throat and across his clavicle, sucking and biting until you come to his nipple and then closing your mouth on it.

He cries out, bucking up again but finding no satisfaction. You smirk to yourself and remove your mouth, leaving him squirming in frustration with his hands tied above him and not even able to touch himself.  
“Poor baby. You like it when I use my mouth on your tits, huh? You just like being my whore. What about when I fuck your tight cunt, huh? What about that? Shall we find out?”

You slam into him, and his eyes go huge and he lets out another moan that could wake the dead. You do it again. And then you do it again. 

Every time you pound into him he makes another noise that you’re sure is making the hotel room sound like the best hidden room in the most disreputable brothel in this side of the city, and as you pick up a pace it only comes louder and more broken.  
“Y/N,” he cries, and “Y/N,” and “Y/N,” and then “I’m gonna come-!” 

...And then you pull out.

“Come?”  
Ben stares at you in horror, jerking his hips into the air with his hair sweaty and stuck to his forehead and his arms still tied above his head.  
“Y-yeah…? I was- why’d you? What?”  
You nod serenely.

“Ahh, well I’m afraid that’s my job done.”  
“Your job done?” He echoes back in nothing short of horror. You vacate the bed and start taking off the strap.  
“That’s right. Since you like to feel like a woman, you can finish it off for yourself, kitten. I’m perfectly satisfied; this is your problem now.”  
“Finish… I can’t! I can’t finish, you’ve tied me up!”  
“Sucks to be you, I guess. Maybe next time you’ll learn how to satisfy your wife in bed properly and learn the ‘symptoms’ of female arousal. Enjoy your night!”

Wh- Y/N?! Don’t you dare leave like this; I’ll— I’ll—“  
“You’ll do what? Debate me?” You grin. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got a hot date tonight.”

You leave the hotel room cheerfully, still able to hear the mortified and furious shouts from behind the door. You dial a number into your phone, and it only rings twice before she picks up.

“Mor? I have a surprise for you waiting in hotel room number 59. Just to warn you, it’s very angry at the moment and probably won’t be very willing to cooperate. However, it has spent an hour or two being prevented from orgasming so to be honest you won’t have much trouble controlling it. It’s also handcuffed to the bed, if that’s relevant at all.”  
“Ah. Er, thank you?”  
“You’re welcome. I’d leave it for an hour or two, myself. Give it some time to think about its actions. Maybe in that time we could have dinner together? What do you say?”

Mor giggles through the phone.  
“I think i could manage dinner. Coincidentally, Ben happens to be otherwise engaged in work things- not sure how that happened.” You can hear the smile through the phone. “I’ll meet you there, then.”  
“Excellent.”

You hang up, smiling the whole way down the stairs.

Tonight is only going to get better.

**Author's Note:**

> my gf broke up with me while I was writing this give me sympathy :/ also subscribe for the reason that I’ll probably be doing a part 2 lol


End file.
